


Like We Never Loved At All

by Journalist101



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Journalist101/pseuds/Journalist101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could have been and what should have been are just questions that should never be asked at a wedding. And yet the worst part is that sometimes, it's hard to stop thinking about the what ifs. Charlie's thoughts on Meryl's wedding day, kind of a role reversal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like We Never Loved At All

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my new fic, I've already decided to give that one a happy ending so it doesn't work there but I was inspired while working on something else.

Three whiskey shots and two glasses of champagne into toasting the happy couple, you feel a significant buzz that borders on too much and **frankly, you need some fresh air**. You feel a little ashamed getting wasted at your best friend’s wedding and regret seeps into you as you stand, still gripping that whiskey sour, and start to make your way, stumbling slightly, out of the room and into the balcony. Your legs barely work, feeling a little like jelly, and you wonder, in your drunken stupor, if it’s because you’ve been sitting by the bar for far too long.

 

The air is cool and crisp, a perfect summer night—a perfect night for an elegant, tasteful wedding. Perfect for the woman you love—and of course the man that she loves. You lean over the balcony, looking below; you can see a limo for the couple waiting down below. _And you think it must be later than you thought—how long have you been sitting at the bar_?

 

Fumbling with your phone, you see that it’s only half past twelve, still early yet that limo signifies that the evening will be coming to a close shortly. You inhale sharply, wondering why that causes a dull throb in your head and heart—perhaps you’ve consumed a little too much at this point in time and you feel dizzy from looking down. Shaking your head slightly, you look up and you see that your hands are a little unsteady as you watch some of that precious liquid fall over the side of the glass.

 

Instead you look up, you think about your own pathetic pity party for one that you seem to have thrown tonight. You think under the pressure, under the finality, you finally cracked. You’ve spent so many years pretending that you were happy for her, and tonight you really think that perhaps you did your finest acting job yet. **And she says you’re not a good actor—if she only knew, if she only knew how hard it had been to paste that grin on your face when she announced she was actually marrying him and then when she begged him to be a part of the wedding.** If she only knew how difficult it had been to smile and pose for pictures with her and her new husband, if she only knew that inside you felt your self-control slowly slipping away and that’s when the alcohol started flowing freely from the bar to your mouth.

 

Belatedly, you realize that you’ve left your date, a friend, just a friend you told her to her disappointment, by herself but then you remember that she knows people here and she’ll be fine. And you find yourself staring moodily out into the darkness, really asking yourself what you’re still doing here.

 

Lost in your own thoughts, you sense someone behind you but you don’t turn. Instead you feel a light tap on your shoulder and your legs, which you thought were numb, feel something brush up against them. **And you know who it is instantly, you would recognize that scent anywhere—it’s her.**

 

Turning to face her, you look at her eyes, bright from her champagne and the excitement, cheeks still flushed and that soft half-smile you know so well. And your heart clenches involuntarily and you feel all the feelings you’ve sought to repress for so long bubble up and you try to reign yourself in, you try to keep your self-control intact but she makes it so hard, she makes you want to come clean. Her voice is soft and sweet as she says, “Hey stranger. I’m sorry, I’ve barely seen you all night,” as she pouts just a little at the end.

 

You fight to keep the bitterness from your tone when you say, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat, “It’s cool. There are a lot of people around who need your attention more than me.” As she smiles at you in response, you feel your throat closing once more and you try to even out your breathing as your heart races.

 

“Still, I have to make time for my best friend.” Her smile gets bigger and he feels the dull throb of pain as it courses through his head. **Her best friend. Just her friend.** **At least she didn’t call you her brother.** You try to stretch your face into something that resembles a smile, as she finally looks closer at you. She's studying you, taking in that you're past buzzed and fast approaching drunk. You look vaguely unsteady on your feet and she reaches for your drink as you hand it to her automatically. Even you know that you’ve had one too many at this point and relinquish the liquid courage to her much steadier hand.

 

Teasingly she says, “Don’t tell me you’ve become that cliché!” **And you hold your tongue because you want to remark that you’re a far worse one—you’re in love with the bride as you shake your head and mutter something about celebrating just a little too much, just a little too hard**. She laughs in response as she takes a cautious sip of the drink before pulling a face and setting the drink down, just out of your reach on the balcony railing.

 

You watch her look up at the sky and you feel her slip her arm around your back. _For a minute, you can lose yourself, pretend that this is your wedding day—that she married you but your mind knows it’s only just pretend and pretending does nothing good for your already tortured soul. But you can’t help yourself so you slip an arm around her and she leans into you. You rest your head on hers for just a moment, losing yourself in the fantasy once more_.

 

She fits perfectly like she always has since you were just kids. And you try to remember when it all changed and you remind yourself it was right about the time you were both in high school. You fell head over heels for her in high school and once she stole your heart, she never gave it back. You never had the courage to ask for it back because with her it was safe in her hands—or so you thought—and it was perfect because she was only person you could ever imagine giving it to. **And you love her—just like you’ve always loved her**.

 

 _As you stand there with your arm around her, looking up at the sky, you remember how she was your first kiss at fifteen back when you were all acne and awkwardness, right in the middle of puberty._ And you remember how you felt like it was best feeling ever, only to be topped by all the others that followed. And then you remember all the subsequent kisses that followed when you two were too drunk after a formal of hers or an ice skating party, where it just seemed natural—maybe you'd been spending too much time around Scott and Tessa. **And you remember how you would never get sick of those kisses—even though they were tinged with alcohol but never with regret because you think that was perhaps the only way you could have her.**

 

And then came that awful night in Russia when you lost all control over your limbs and you felt like the lowest of the low. You can recall the apologies you whispered to her that night in your hotel room. You can feel the tears that fell until for the first time she initiated the kiss and then you remember falling over the cliff with her, looking into her eyes full of passion.

 

The sheets wrapped around you both, her eyes wide, your heavy breathing, sweat dripping from you both. The sounds you both made as you came together, crashing over the edge. The aftermath, lying tangled in each others’ arms, still breathing heavily as you tried to pull yourselves together. You stroking her hair so silky and her skin so soft and smooth, and listening to her heartbeat start to still.

 

Her arms are around you, resting on your chest and around you as she burrows closer into your side, listening to your heartbeat and your breath. There was nothing better in that moment than just being with her, just being with her and you could picture your future with her being exactly like that. You could imagine waking up and falling asleep with her everything and you realized that was what you wanted. And you never slept better that night despite all the mistakes and miscues from the previous day. **And you feel asleep thinking that this could be the first day of the rest of your life with this woman.**

 

The next morning you wake up to see **her embarrassment and is that regret,** you spyin her eyes—you don’t want to know so you don’t ask. And you feel that sinking feeling in your stomach—so much worse than falling on the ice—and you find yourself backtracking from what you had planned on saying, instead  **saying that it was okay, it was a mistake, that you could just forget about it, and pretend that it never happened.** You pretend not to notice the relief in her eyes as she dresses hastily and exits. It’s only then that **you cry.**

 

You never talk about it again; you watch her move on with a new guy—someone you can’t stand but for her sake, you tolerate. But standing here now, you wish you would have said something, said anything. And you find yourself whispering into her hair, _“I love you.”_ **Because this was the last time you would ever really be able to say it to her, because now you have to give her up for good. Because after this moment ends, she’ll go back to her new husband and you’ll go back to being the supportive friend. And you wish you could make this moment last forever but you can’t even though you swear time slows down whenever you’re with her.**

 

 _And then all too quickly, she moves just a little and you know the moment has come and gone._ **And you know that giving her up, releasing her will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.** _You know that you’ll always love her and that by letting her go, you’ll have given her the greatest gift—her happiness, at the expense of your own._ She turns to face you, looking up at you from under her lashes, she says, “I’m so glad you were here.” You smile in response, “I’m happy that you were here with me—just like always, just like old times. You’ve always been my rock, my best friend. I can always count on you, even when I don’t deserve it.” She gives you a weak smile.

 

And in that moment, you realize that she’s finally ready to acknowledge that night and you look deep into her eyes, wondering what made her touch on that. You simply nod and looking once more into her eyes, you know that once you two had a chance and then you see that it was the fear the uncertainty that made her run, that made your chapter end before it every really began. And you can read the **guilt in her eyes.**

 

And you think about all the things you could say, you've pictured this moment a million times and you've thought about everything you could say in that very moment. The ideas run through your mind blindly as you contemplate a response.  _You could tell her you love, that you’ve always loved her._ _You could say that it’s not too late, even though she’s standing here in her wedding dress._ _You could say it’s not her fault and that you don’t blame her for it._ _Or you could even make her feel guiltier by telling her exactly how you’ve been feeling for seven years_ **. But you don’t want to, you begin to open your mouth but you see something that catches your eye—it’s her husband, lingering, looking for her, like a good husband should.**

 

He inclines his head, ever so slightly towards you and _instead of speaking to her, you squeeze her hand tightly, pouring every ounce of emotion you have left in you, trying to convey everything you can’t say, conveying everything that you don’t have the strength or courage to say_ , and finally say, “I think someone’s looking for you.” Before smiling at her and you knew she understood, that she was aware that you had forgiven her and that it was all water under the bridge.

 

She hugs you close once more, so tightly you think that she’s trying to memorize you, and you inhale her scent for what could be the last time. You drop a kiss on her forehead as her eyes close once more before you release her and you watch her turn to leave, to go to her new husband. You watch her slip her arms around him as he drops a kiss to her head, not unlike you were doing. And you wonder why it had to be him and it’s unfair that it is him but that’s life. You watch them leave and you hear cheers, it must be time for them to depart and instead of feeling sick, you feel freer than you’ve ever been.

 

The weight of the past had been a heavy burden to wear and you knew that she had finally given you the answer that haunted you since that night and you could maybe, finally, put the ghost of her away. Maybe you’d fall in love and get married yourself but you know that you’ve already committed her every feature to memory, and that she’ll be a tough act to follow. As you stand there, you realize it’s time for the grand goodbye. But you don’t make your way downstairs for their grand exit.

 

Instead you watch from above as they run out in the shower of sparklers and watch as he dips her low and kisses her. You watch her look up, just as he’s helping her into the limo and your eyes meet one last time. You incline your head ever so slightly and mouth, “I love you,” as she smiles back before turning and dipping her head as she climbs into the car.  **You watch her car pull away with a sad, bittersweet smile on your face as you think, maybe one day it’ll be like we never loved at all**.


End file.
